


Can't Let You Go

by FaygoMayhem



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Chill XV, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Psychosis, Self-Harm, Spoilers, loss of self
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-03 22:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaygoMayhem/pseuds/FaygoMayhem
Summary: The sun is out and the world is saved; at the cost of their King and beloved friend.As the trio of Royal Retainers attempts to move on with their lives it quickly becomes evident that Ignis is taking the loss harder than anyone ever thought-to the point where he's almost unrecognizable as the man he once was.All Gladio can do is try his best to hold him together and pray to whoever's still listening that he'll eventually come back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grab tissue boxes folks, this is going to be a rough ride. Apparently I just can't help but to stick some angst in between the humor I've been cranking out and the fluff that's due to come for Gladnis week. Please mind the tags before reading. Thanks for sticking with me guys.

When the sun came up, everything changed.

The daemons they’d vowed to fight with their last breaths all at once let out a strangled cry, transforming the atmosphere into a symphony of agony illustrated by wisps of angry black smoke as one by one their corporal forms dissolved into nothing.

Then the tether broke. In unison the three of them collapsed to their knees as the string of magic connecting them to their King was severed from their consciousness. Each of their weapons shattered in a shower of blue sparkles, never to be summoned again. As one they experienced the gaping loss of their friend, brother, and King.

Everything went deathly silent as the black smog that had enveloped the sky began to fade, and for the first time in ten hard, long, years; dawn broke on the horizon. The sky transformed from suffocating blackness into a blended canvas of yellow, orange and pink as the long-forgotten sun slowly crept up to take its rightful place in the sky.

It was the most breathtakingly painful thing the three of them had ever experienced. Each of them celebrated individually because their mission was completed, and the world, for now, had been saved. They grieved together because of what it had cost to get them there.

The sun was back, but Noctis was gone.

Gladiolus, Prompto and Ignis huddled together to watch the sunrise with tears streaming down their faces. The two still in possession of their sight did their best to try and explain what it looked like to their blind friend, but neither of them had ever been very good words, and the description fell flat on ears that weren’t really listening anyway.

When they had all recovered enough to start moving again the trio slowly climbed the Citadel steps to the throne room to pay final tribute to their King. The same set of steps that marked their journey from jovial beginning to tragic and violent end. A set of steps that none of them would ever touch again.

In the throne room Prompto let out a strangled sob at the sight of his closest friend and King pinned to his throne, impaled through the chest by one of his most cherished possessions. Gladio turned his head away, unable to look any longer at the results of the terrible fate suffered at the hands of the man he’d loved like a brother. Ignis stares sightlessly off into the distance, immobile and saying nothing. For just a moment Gladio is thankful that at least one of them is spared the macabre sight of what remains of their oldest friend. Seconds later he kicks himself for the horrible thought.

Gladio is tasked with retrieving the body, the only one of them strong enough to pull a sword from stone, and also with its transport. It takes a nearly Herculean effort to extract the sword and adjust the dead weight comfortably in his arms, but he manages somehow. Prompto carries the sword on his back like it’s the greatest burden he’s ever had to bare; while Ignis just focuses on remembering how to put one foot in front of the other, the only one of them still permanently condemned to survive in darkness.

Outside of the city Cor is waiting with the remainder of the surviving members of Crownsguard and Kingsglave. They form a line as the retainers pass, each one bowing with a fist over their heart as they mourn their fallen King. The walk to Hammerhead becomes a funeral procession as the Guard slowly follows their King for the final time.

They use what remains of the garage at Hammerhead to prepare Noctis for his final rest. Gladio and Cor dig a grave on the hill overlooking the city of Insomnia, Prompto helps to build a casket, and Ignis cleans and redresses the body. The remainder of the people who knew Noct well in life slowly trickle in, and a private funeral is held the next day.

As they say their final goodbyes Cor lays The Sword of the Father down in the grave to join father and son together once more. Prompto digs the photo Noctis had taken with him to the throne room out of his pocket and gently lays it atop the casket so he can take his friend with him in spirit to the afterlife. Following his lead, Gladio digs out the small Carbuncle statuette he had found with Noct’s leftover gear and sets it beside the photograph to help guide his way. Ignis unclasps the little skull charm from around his neck and sets it with the other offerings, a symbol of his service now and forever.

As one everyone in attendance gives a last salute to their King, and the four of them each pick up a shovel and help to bury their friend. The gathered crowd breaks slowly, leaving only the three retainers behind- huddled with arms around each other’s shoulders and staring at the simple headstone they’d managed to carve out of an old slab of cinderblock.

_King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV_

_M.E. 735-766_

_Hero, Brother, Friend_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this in advance guys, *passes out tissues*, it only gets worse from here.

 

After the funeral, the three of them retired to Ignis’ apartment in Lestallum to mourn the loss of their friend in private and take comfort in each other’s presence. They spent days going through old photo albums and reliving the best memories from their journey, sharing stories of what they’d been up to during the Long Night, and crying until they were each out of tears to shed.

It didn’t take long for the cramped space to become suffocating for the three very different grown men, however, and just two weeks after the new dawn Prompto was packing his things and setting back for Hammerhead to help Cindy care for the garage she’d inherited in her grandfather’s passing. Gladio doesn’t blame him; the kid always had issues with his standing in the group, and with Noct gone for good it was probably hard for him to try and maintain the cheerful demeanor he’d come to be known for so they wouldn’t tire of him-though that was far from the truth of anything that would actually happen.

Gladio and Ignis remained, tip-toeing around each other as they each tried to figure out what to do about the relationship between them that had fractured during the ten year dark. Being honest with himself, after losing so much Gladio wanted nothing more than to bundle the advisor in his arms and never let him go; but as the days went on the other man became increasingly hard to read, and he had no idea how to broach the subject with him.

They still shared a bed, as the apartment had only one room and was only large enough for a single mattress, but all contact between them was chaste- reduced to only brief hugs and the occasional shoulder squeeze. Ignis himself had been growing more and more closed off by the day since they’d buried Noct. Where he’d once held to a steadfast routine of self-care, these days he seemed more than content to not bother with much more than simply getting out of bed.

He barely ate, fought to fall and stay asleep, refused to participate in more than single-word conversations, had abandoned the upkeep of his hair and other aspects of personal hygiene, and most days was content to do little more than sit in an armchair by the side of the apartment’s open-pane window and stare blankly into the distance.

Gladio found himself at a loss for what to do. On one hand he knew his friend needed time and space to heal in his own way before moving on, but on the other he couldn’t just sit back and let him fall down such a dramatic downward spiral. Romantically involved or not, Ignis still meant the world to him and it killed to watch him suffer in silence.

He’d tried everything he could think of to get a response from him. He brought him to the new markets setting up with the return of sun to hunt for fresh ingredients, but whatever passion he’d had for cooking seemed to have died along with their King. He’d brought him to Cor so the Marshal could update him on the efforts to rebuild the Crown City, but he’d only scowled and stalked off when he caught on the ploy. He tried reading to him at night from the godawful bodice rippers he was such a fan of tearing to shreds, but his only response was to sink back into the chair and ignore him as he sightlessly watched the world pass him by.

Eventually, Gladio stopped trying to forcefully pull him out of his rut. He went out and got himself a job trying to bring the city back to its former glory after it’d been left in a state of disarray from the overpopulation of survivors from the darkness.  It was hard work, and went a long way into helping not feel useless. He toyed with idea of joining the teams charged with restoring Insomnia, but he couldn’t find it in himself to leave Ignis behind. Maybe he’d go after his condition started to improve, if he was told he wasn’t wanted. Maybe.

As it stood he was content to keep his routine for as long as Ignis would let him: Wake up to an empty bed, bring Ignis a cup of tea in his chair and try to get him to eat something, try to start a conversation and ultimately get rejected, go to work, come home to find Ignis still in the chair, tell him about his day even though he might as well have talked to the wall instead, try to get him to eat again, kick him into the shower and help him shave, force him to lay down for at least a couple hours before he inevitably gets up again, repeat.

Living with Ignis these days was somewhat akin to living with a very heavy, life-size doll- complete with a set of pre-programmed phrases set to cycle when prodded- ‘no’, ‘yes’, ‘please’, ‘thank you’, ‘okay’. Long gone was the sharp silver tongue and terrible sense of humor Gladio had fallen in love with years ago, though he kept trying every single day to get more than a single word reaction out of him- even if was to yell and tell him to fuck off- but he remained stubbornly catatonic and closed off, more or less the only one of his traits that still remained. Some nights, if he was extremely quiet, he could sneak into the room and catch him muttering to himself as he resolutely stared at the window. Gladio didn’t know what to make of that, but it couldn’t have been anything good.  

Two months after they’d said goodbye to Noct, Gladio was at his wits end and ready to set the ultimatum that Ignis either put even the slightest bit of effort into taking care of himself, or start paying someone else to take care of him. He wanted desperately to help him, but as it stood he was doing little more than enabling him to stay locked in his depression. As much as Gladio loved Ignis he realized that it wasn’t healthy for him to continue devoting so much of his time and energy into caring for an irresponsive lump on an armchair. He would try convincing him to see a doctor and get himself some help, and if that didn’t work he would have no other choice but to move on.

To his surprise, Ignis didn’t put up any resistance when he suggested seeing a therapist. He still didn’t say much, just a nod of the head when asked if it was something he’d consider doing and a murmured ‘I’m sorry’- said more to whatever he was seeing in the window than to Gladio himself. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it.

Gladio made all the arrangements himself to get him in to see the doctor. With all the trauma the population had endured with the loss of the sun, demand for psychological therapists had dramatically increased and it took a couple more weeks to get him in. Gladio sat in with him for the appointment, trying to prod him to answer questions on his own and answering for him when he had a hard time of it.  

It wasn’t really news to him when Ignis was diagnosed with Severe Depressive Disorder. The doctor scheduled regular appointments for the future and prescribed him a month’s worth of antidepressants- which was a surprise. Antidepressants and antipsychotics were some of the first of the medications to start disappearing from pharmacies during the long night, along with painkillers and muscle relaxers.

That Ignis was being gifted with the medication from such a limited stock was a testament both to how much people respected his sacrifice to the world, and how serious his condition really was. As the doctor spoke Gladio mentally kicked himself for not bringing him in sooner, and for suggesting even for a second that he would abandon him. He got the prescription filled right away and added making sure Ignis was taking them into the routine.

After about a week things actually seemed to be getting better. Ignis was still mostly silent, but now he sometimes smiled at Gladio when he was talking, and would nod his head as if he were actually listening to the conversation. He started showering and brushing his teeth on his own, and Gladio stopped having to fight so hard to get him to eat. Things were finally looking up, and Gladio was so proud of Ignis for starting to fight back.

Then the nightmares started.

Gladio woke up one night to Ignis screaming bloody murder and digging harsh lines into his arms and chest with his fingernails. He grabbed hold of his hands to stop him from hurting himself and shouted him awake immediately, shocked when his automatic reaction upon waking was to launch himself into Gladio’s chest and heave out broken sobs that shook his entire body. The larger man could do nothing but gather him into his arms and stroke his head and back, rocking him slowly as he fell back asleep.

The terrors continued nightly for a solid week. All the progress he’d been making was quickly swept away as Ignis returned to vacantly staring out the window from his chair, now almost completely immobile. He stopped eating almost entirely, and was now deathly pale and practically skeletal, with large dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. The nightly disturbance was beginning to take a toll on Gladio as well, and he found himself desperately calling the doctor for a solution.

The only thing she could do for him was try switching the medication, which did change things, but not in the way Gladio had hoped. Now instead of waking to nightly screaming, Gladio would get up in the middle of the night to find Ignis aimlessly walking around the apartment, sometimes stuck fixated on various objects and muttering strings of random words that didn’t make any sense.

When Gladio would call to him he would come back confused and unable to remember where he was, and sometimes didn’t seem to even recognize who he was talking to. One night, Gladio found him in the kitchen aimlessly stirring a bowl full of some kind of sludge mixed together from various ingredients found in the pantry and refrigerator. When Gladio asked him what he was doing he responded that he was trying out a new recipe for the Memory Lane pastry (‘this time with carrots!’- he’d chirped happily).

Gladio’s heart had nearly shattered into a million pieces at the look on his face when he’d been forced to remind him that Noctis was gone, and wasn’t coming back.

He called the doctor again afterward and her only advice was that if things were getting so bad it might be best for both of them to check him into some sort of round-the-clock care facility. Gladio had bristled at the suggestion, completely unwilling to pawn the man he loved off on someone else no matter what he’d been telling himself in the weeks previous. Ignis needed him now more than ever, and he wasn’t going to abandon him just because things were getting worse before they inevitably got better. And they would get better- there was no other option.

Things from then were on and off. Some days, Ignis was lucid and responsive- even talking and joking around like from before he’d started to decline. On these days Gladio would stay with him and drink up every moment spent with his love, driven by the knowledge that he was still in there, somewhere, and he just had to wait patiently for him to come back.

That optimistic hope was the only thing getting him through the bad days. The days where Ignis would scream indecipherable sentences at him and hide himself away in the closet or under the bed, sometimes throwing things or clawing at his body like he was on fire. On those days, Gladio would find a way to restrain him and whisper comforting words into his ear until the episode calmed down, only thankful that no matter what state the other man was in, he never seemed to want to leave the apartment unless forced.

The neighbors started whispering behind his back, sounding out their sympathies for the ‘poor crazy blind man’ holed up in the apartment and the ‘sad, brutish, teddy bear’ stuck taking care of him. Gladio didn’t pay them any attention, none of them could even imagine the kinds of shit they had gone through in the process of, gee I don’t know, saving the goddamn world?

As Ignis’ condition kept spiraling Gladio was all but permanently holed away with the other man, completely cut off from other people save doctor’s visits and trips to the market. He quit his job and only allowed the company of the two other people on the planet who could truly understand the depth of his devotion to the man stuck slowly losing his mind; one of them being his kid sister Iris, and the other being the one who’d been with them through everything on their journey through hell.

He’d done everything he could to hide Ignis’ decline from Prompto, not wanting to have him feeling guilty over leaving. There was nothing either of them could have done to prevent it, but that wouldn’t stop the blonde from somehow contriving it into somehow being his fault, and Gladio really didn’t have the stamina to deal with another emotional wreck of a human being.

When things had finally been brought to light, Gladio unable to prevent him from dropping by unannounced and seeing for himself just how bad things really were, Prompto had actually taken it rather well and was a surprising asset in helping him to care for their sick friend. Prompto’s presence seemed to soothe Ignis in a way Gladio never could, but rather than be jealous he was elated that the blonde could help bring the blind man back to himself-even if it was only for a few hours.

When Prompto was around, Ignis would sit with him and listen to him describe old photographs and chatter on happily about Cindy, or chocobos, or whatever new contraption he’d pieced together from scrap metal at the back of the garage. Sometimes he would even decide cook for him, actual meals that weren’t thrown sloppily together from whatever the man had been able to get his hands on at the time.

Once, Prompto asked why Ignis seemed to receive him so well, and Gladio had figured it was because he’d had always looked to Prompto as a secondary charge. He’d long ago considered himself individually responsible for the well-being of the Prince’s lonely friend, and had been looking out for him since the two were in highschool. After that Prompto had suggested that maybe Gladio should get Ignis something new to care for, like a cat, but Gladio had shot him down, not wanting to deal with the kind of insanity that would come with introducing a live animal into this mess.

 He contemplated asking Prompto to stay and help him care for Ignis, but he simply couldn’t justify asking the blonde to give up his entire life for them _again_ , no matter if he would be happy to do it or not. He was extremely grateful enough already that he’d started frequently coming around to give him a break and just wasn’t comfortable asking for anything more.

A couple more months passed with Ignis’ condition yo-yoing up and down. Every time they saw her the doctor would recommend checking him into a ward; and Gladio would always refuse, still not ready to give up though some of his resolve was starting to crack. Each experimental adjustment in medication brought a new string of odd behavior, and he was running himself ragged trying to deal with it on his own.

A new set of scares started one afternoon when Gladio had gone out to the market for ingredients on a seemingly good day after Ignis had put in some specific requests for dinner. In the hallway leading to the apartment, he could make out the sounds of Ignis’ smooth voice chattering happily from behind the door. A smile had broken out on Gladio’s face, thinking maybe Prompto had dropped by unexpectedly and was coaxing Ignis out of his shell like he seemed to do so well. When he opened the door, however, his heart had sunk down into his feet as he saw that there wasn’t anyone else in the room.

Ignis was seated at the table by himself, a plate of various uncooked foods in front of him, holding an animated conversation with an empty chair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *falls to the floor and begs forgiveness for this chapter*

After the incident in the kitchen, the good days came fewer and far between. Ignis seemed to have completely lost track of where and who he was, only retaining fragments of memory that would occasionally manifest in his hallucinations. Gladio was never sure these days what he could expect to walk into a room and find him doing, and he loathed to leave the other man alone-even to go sleep.

He came to hate the nights, because he never knew what person he would wake up to. Sometimes it would be the relaxed twenty-two year old Ignis, who would sit in his chair with his arms extended as if he were driving the Regalia, occasionally reaching behind him for invisible cans of Ebony and scolding his non-existent passengers to put their seatbelts on. Other times it was the studious, overworked eighteen year old that Gladio had first fallen in love with, who would sit at the table with any book he could get his hands on-no matter that he couldn’t read them-and scribble illegible squiggles into a notebook like he was writing out reports. Gladio left him alone on those days, enjoying the peaceful quiet only broken when the man would stop suddenly and ask himself why he was even bothering, because Noctis probably wasn’t going to read the reports anyway.

The times Gladio truly dreaded, more than anything else he’d had to deal with thus far, were when he would wake up to a frightened and shivering child Ignis, who would draw the blankets of the bed up to chin and ask him in a small and broken voice why everything was so dark. Those days were like reliving the aftermath of Altissia over and over, though now he had none of the stubborn loyalty and sense of duty that had helped him to cope the first time. He would dissolve into an inconsolable wreck when Gladio reminded him as delicately that he could that he’d gone blind, and the gentle giant could do nothing hold him and whisper that there was nothing to be scared of.

Working through the mood swings was exhausting, but Gladio managed somehow, thankful that the confused man never seemed to get violent or destructive. The larger man was honestly terrified of the day Ignis would wake up and remember that he knew how to fight, and well, and went off to try and kill the demons living in the outside hallway he would speak of sometimes. Gladio really didn’t know what he would do if the other man ever tried hurting himself or someone else.  

The morning he found him trying to pitch a tent and start a campfire on the living room floor was the same day he left Iris to babysit and went out and bought child-proof locks for every drawer, window, cabinet, and closet in the apartment. Ignis didn’t even seem to notice his new limitations once everything was finally installed, but Gladio had a sneaking suspicion that it was only because Iris had given him something new to fixate on.

In her brother’s absence, Iris had gotten the idea that re-gifting Ignis the stuffed moogle toy she’d once given to Noctis might give the man a bit of comfort. She couldn’t have known that he would automatically latch onto the plush toy and start behaving as if it were alive, carrying it with him everywhere and not letting anyone go near it.

He called the moogle ‘Noct’.

After it was given to him, the change in personas seemed to happen much more infrequently as Ignis’ fractured mind busied itself with taking care of his inanimate charge. He fought with the moogle every morning trying to get it out of bed, held one-sided conversations with it over the  breakfast he pretended to cook with no food or kitchenware before ‘driving it to school’, and then returning to clean the apartment, often times making more of a mess.

When he picked it back up he would often scold it for prioritizing video games over homework and Princely duty, and would sometimes sit at the kitchen table with it for hours poring over the multiple notebooks full of squiggles and trying to teach it advanced math and language composition, subjects Noct had always struggled with in school. In the evenings he would burrow in his chair with the toy in his lap and map out all the constellations in the sky that he could no longer see, pausing to impart the legends and mythology on the moogles’ deaf ears. Gladio would often linger in the hallway, sadly listening to the same stories time and time again, just wanting to hear Ignis’ voice finally speaking in a way that was almost sane.

At bedtime Ignis would tuck ‘Noct’ securely into his chest and delicately stroke its head while whispering reassurances like, ‘I’m here’ and ‘You’re safe now, I won’t let anything happen to you’. It would have been sweet if it weren’t so cripplingly depressing, and Gladio often had to turn away to fight back the tears threating to fall as Ignis comforted the toy like he used to do to their Prince.

Ignis adopting the moogle was the last straw for Prompto. The blonde quickly decided that watching the man who was once so intelligent and intense blindly caring for the plush toy he was convinced was their long lost friend was too much for him to take. He apologized to Gladio and returned to Hammerhead without trying to speak to Ignis, only calling once every few weeks to check on his progress. He would never say anything to Prom even under threat of death, but after he left things only seemed to get worse.

With Prompto gone, Ignis stopped responding to Gladio at all. He ignored all attempts the tattooed man made to drag him back to reality and only reacted with harsh resentment when Gladio tried caring for him, though he wasn’t exactly trying to do anything for his own sake himself. Ignis’ entire existence was completely centered on the moogle, and Gladio was quickly running out of patience.

He finally had enough the morning he’d woken up to Ignis sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor with the moogle in his lap, diligently sewing rows of buttons onto the fronts of the random t-shirts and tank tops piled around him. Gladio didn’t know where he’d gotten the sewing kit, and he didn’t care. An unexplainable rage filled him as the last thread of his patience finally snapped. He tossed the blankets aside and stomped across the room in three large strides to brutally snatch the moogle out of Ignis’ lap, ripping it at the arm when he yelped and tried to take it back.

He was seconds away from tearing the thing in half and tossing it out the window when he heard Ignis collapse to his knees on the floor behind him, sobbing brokenly and begging him not to take Noctis away from him again.

Gladio wanted to scream. Wanted to go over and shake the man until came to his senses and realized that the stupid toy wasn’t Noctis, that it would _never_ be Noctis. Instead he walked back over and calmly handed the moogle back, blood curdling when Ignis snatched it up and immediately started to soothe it.

After that incident, Ignis refused to come near him. When he walked into the room the blind man would instantly go cold and draw into himself, sheltering the moogle and whispering to it that everything would be ok. He had to start dragging Iris over to coax him into the shower and get him into the car so they could attend his appointments, since this was her fault in the first place, and she was quickly starting to resent him for it.

Everyone around him was telling him to just let go of Ignis; that he couldn’t keep doing this to himself for very much longer. He knew that they were right, that he would never be able to provide the kind of help that Ignis needed to get better, but he was still stubbornly clinging to the idea that one day he would wake up and the man he loved would be back and resting beside him.

Of course, he could only dream for so long.

He’d woken up at dawn about two weeks after his breakdown to find the moogle discarded at the side of the bed. The apartment was eerily silent, and his heart leapt into his throat as he scooped the toy up and charged out of bed. Ignis was nowhere to be found, and Gladio quickly began to panic as he tore through every possible hiding spot he could think of, quietly losing it when he turned up no trace of his blind and confused companion.

A strong gust of wind had the curtain fluttering against the still partially cracked open doorway leading to the apartments outside balcony. Gladio sprang into action, heart hammering as he realized that Ignis had _picked the lock_ on the door to escape the apartment. Cautiously, he stepped outside to find Ignis precariously balanced on the thin railing that wrapped around the edge of their small balcony with his head tilted back and his arms reaching toward the sky.

Gladio called to him softly, asking what he was doing and telling to come down as calmly as possible. If he made one wrong move and startled the blind man he’d certainly fall to his death. Ignis ignored him, continuing to stretch his arms upward and bask in the light of the dawn. “I can feel him,” he whispered thoughtfully to the rising sun.

Approaching the way one would a frightened animal, Gladio slowly crept across the balcony until he was within reach of Ignis. The man scowled at him when he asked him again to come back down, urgently insisting, “I need to be there with him.”

The next moment was a wild blur as Ignis moved to step down off the balcony and Gladio shot his arms out lighting, just in time to catch him around the middle and drag him back onto the other side of the balcony, both of them collapsing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Ignis kicked and screamed, demanding to be released so he could be with his Prince, but Gladio only held him tighter, sobbing into his shoulder.

It took a while for Ignis to calm down, and in that time Gladio shed more tears than he ever thought he possibly could. He’d nearly lost him; nearly let his most important person fling himself off their balcony because he wasn’t watching him. When Ignis was finally done thrashing, Gladio turned him over and placed a soft, pleading, kiss to his lips.

That simple touch was filled with all longing, guilt, sadness and desperation he’d been holding in since Noctis had gone. He didn’t expect a response, but Ignis’ lips moved as if on autopilot to kiss him back, completely devoid of almost all emotion. As his hands moved to slip under Gladio’s shirt, the larger man stopped him and broke them apart, holding the other man close to his chest.

“Iggy. Iggy tell me-who am I? Why are you kissing me,” he asked, stroking the greasy mop of tawny brown hair.

The blind man faltered, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find words and came up blank. “You….you’re…you’re important to me,” he finally settled on, nuzzling into Gladio’s chest.

That was it, the final straw. Gladio wept openly into Ignis’ hair, squeezing him tightly and rubbing his hands up and down his back. Ignis no longer knew who he was, and the realization was eating him from the inside out, setting his nerves on fire and leaving a blank, numb, feeling in their wake.

Ignis was gone, and there was nothing Gladio could do to bring him back.

Still sobbing, Gladio wrapped his arms around his love and brought him back into the apartment. He carried him back into their bedroom and tucked him underneath the covers, then climbed in beside him and held him to his chest as tight as he could. He cried through the afternoon and into the evening, stroking every inch him and begging him to come back. Ignis didn’t put up a fight, letting himself be held as if he could sense something was about to change.

The next morning, Gladio swallowed his pride and the last shards of his broken heart as he called the doctor and made an appointment to check Ignis into a ward.

 


	4. Intermission

The moment Ignis laid his necklace in the ground, he felt a part of his soul fracture.

Everything he’d worked for his entire life was put to rest in a simple grave overlooking the ruins of their home and as he walked away he could feel the gaping hole in his chest growing larger and larger until it almost completely encompassed what remained of his heart.

He wasn’t alone in his grief, but even surrounded by the comforting presence of Prompto and Gladiolus he still felt empty and detached. In the beginning he tried to play it off as if everything was normal. He laughed with them, cried with them, lost himself in the memories they shared; but through it all he couldn’t help but to feel like an imposter, only showing these emotions because it was what they expected of him.

The truth was, he didn’t feel much of anything.

He could no longer find it in himself to mourn for Noctis or for the loss of his purpose in life, nor could he be happy that the sun had returned and the world could be restored. While everyone around them rejoiced for the return of the light, Ignis struggled to come to terms with the ugly grey haze now shrouding what remained of his vision. In many ways, he’d preferred the dark.

He hated himself for it, but he was happy when Prompto announced that he was leaving. The façade of optimism the blonde was trying to keep was really starting to grate on his ears and it didn’t take long for him to reach the point where he was permanently one stray comment away from snapping at him. He loved the excitable photographer dearly, but every time he opened his mouth Ignis’ senses would be overwhelmed with memories of all the days he and Noctis would come bursting into the Prince’s apartment, demanding food and attention and brightening up the edges of his otherwise dull existence.

It was quickly becoming too much for him to handle, and Ignis was thankful that he’d be gone before what was left of his reserves of normally endless patience were finally depleted. Prompto didn’t deserve that, least of all from him. Once the blonde left Ignis was finally able to drop the composed caretaker act he’d been struggling to uphold and just let himself do nothing for once in his life. Gladio seemed to think of it as a positive sign- that he was finally allowing some time to ne selfish. If only he knew that the reason he was doing nothing was because he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything.

He’d spent his entire life cultivating his appearance and mannerisms to be an ideal example of royal pedigree for Noctis to look up to, and for what? Noctis was dead, Lucis in ruins, and the Royal Family was now no more than a pretty idea for the history books. So much of his life had been spent worrying about what other people saw when they looked at him, to choosing each of his words carefully to formulate the proper impression and ensuring that he always presented a proper picture of effortless grace and formality. It was exhausting, and now ultimately unnecessary, so he just…..stopped.

 It wasn’t worth the energy to put any effort into the way he looked and smelled, he struggled to see the point of eating when all food tasted like warm ash in his mouth, and it wasn’t as if his duties the next day would be suffering if he didn’t get a proper amount of rest. He’d dragged a chair near the window where he could sit and let the aggravating grey light envelope him and spend every single second reminding himself of what he’d given up to bring it back.

It was a month before Gladio started getting concerned. At least, he thought it was a month. The days had all started to blur together in a never ending cycle of emptiness and self-deprecation, and the passage of time had long since lost any meaning to him during the Long Night. He really wasn’t sure what the other was trying to accomplish in dragging him back into a world that no longer held any place for him, but he was certain it wasn’t having the effect he was hoping for.

He wasn’t even sure why the other man was still there in the first place. With Noct gone he was freed of the burden of possibility that he’d need to sacrifice his life for the crown at any given moment and could finally settle down. Ignis suspected it was likely a lingering sense of guilt and duty that was keeping him tethered to lonely apartment and he wished more than anything that he would just give up and move on.

Yet the term ‘give up’ didn’t seem to be in Gladio’s vocabulary. Day after day he stubbornly tried to coax him back out of the protective shell he’d erected to shelter him from the world while giving the same care and dedication Ignis had once been tasked with providing to their Prince. He should have hated being treated like a toddler, but Ignis couldn’t find it in him to begrudge the careful treatment and complied without complaint.

When the other man came to him begging that he seek help for the abysmal state of his mental health, Ignis finally got the real explanation for why he was still there. For whatever reason, Gladio still loved him and was staying behind to make sure he didn’t let himself waste away to be counted amongst the dead. For the first time in quite a while, emotions came flooding over him in angry waves that bound him to the chair and left him unable to speak a word other than the meek ‘sorry’ he’d managed to squeak out before being completely overwhelmed.

In the end he’d agreed to the treatment Gladio was proposing. He owed him that much after failing to even register the signs affection his doting companion had been demonstrating while he wallowed in his own filth and self-pity. He wasn’t expecting it to do much, but if it made the other man happy he could at least try, though he feared it was a real possibility that the hole of grief he’d been slowly digging for himself was far too deep to ever be able to climb out of.  

They were both surprised when he was prescribed antidepressants for his condition. He hadn’t even been able to say much during the intake, too embarrassed and revolted by his own behavior and intrusive thinking to bring the truth to light. Gladio’s own account of the past few months had apparently been enough to cause the doctor enough concern to break into their limited resources of medication, which was alarming to him as well. He really hadn’t realized it was that bad.

The pills actually seemed to work at the start, in spite of his defeatist attitude. After a few days he started waking up with his mood a little lighter and he was much more receptive to Gladio’s attention. The other seemed so happy with even the minimal progress he was making that he found himself getting excited for things to return to a more normal state. Maybe after he got better he and Gladio could rekindle the romance they had lost in the dark. Maybe. If Gladio even still wanted him like that.

As soon as those thoughts started, things took a downhill turn once again. He found himself wondering what he could possibly give to the other man that he wouldn’t be able to find in another person that didn’t require so much fussing over. He felt terrible during the nights that Gladio would roll over and throw one of his strong arms around him to cuddle him closer, as if to shield him from the world around them. It felt terrible that Gladio decide he was deserving of such protection; terrible because he needed it so badly.   

 

He’d been contemplating getting out of bed to go sit and collect his thoughts when he suddenly found himself standing in a small room with mirrors lining the walls from floor to ceiling. He looked for a way out, but was trapped at every angle by his own reflection staring judgmentally back at him with a piercing green glare that he could feel in his gut. But it wasn’t his reflection, not really. It was the reflection of his former self- before he’d been scarred and broken. Back when he was a young man still unjaded by the horrors of their situation, before the madness of the world had swept them up into an unending torrent of despair and loss.

_Look at you_

His own voice whispered, though the reflection didn’t move at all.

_Nothing more than a shroud of what you once were; a lonely ghost wandering aimlessly in a world that’s left you behind. Pathetic._

He wanted to argue, but in his heart he knew the words to be true and he could think of nothing to say in his own defense.

_What happened to that arrogant little brat who was so damn sure of himself and his duty? The one who used to stop at nothing to prove he was worthy of the destiny thrust upon him. Did you kill him along with your King?_

His shoulders began to shake and he clasped his hands over his ears, desperate to block the voice out. It continued unhindered, brutally mocking him for his own failures.

_All that training and you couldn’t even stay beside him more than a handful of years. What were they thinking entrusting the care of the most important person in the world into the hands of a silly little boy scared of his own shadow?  You were foolish to think that you could ever make a difference. The only thing you ever did was make his life miserable until the day that he died._

The voice laughed, echoing off the walls of the room as the reflection in the mirror melted and transformed until he was no longer looking at himself, but at Noctis. Not Noctis the King, but Noctis the angry, moody, Prince he’d tried so hard to raise and shelter from the burden of his duty. He glared at him with soulless blue eyes that started flashing red with anger as he spoke.

_How could you do this to me Ignis? I trusted you, and you just walked me to my death like the unquestioning servant you were bred to be. Did you even care about me at all?_

Of course he did.

_Did you ever once think about what I wanted in all this?_

Every day.

_You talk a lot of game for a guy who only pretended to be my friend to suit your own needs._

Noctis, no. He would never.

_Did it feel good lying to me my entire life so you could feel important? Dragging me to all those pointless council meetings and training sessions that I could have spent actually living when you knew what would happen in the end._

He didn’t know. Astrals above he swears he didn’t know.

_Of course you knew. It’s your **job** to know. You were just happy to keep pretending the inevitable wouldn’t happen. _

No.

_Well, you got what you wanted. I fulfilled my destiny._

No.

_This is your fault Ignis. You. Let. Me. DIE._

NO

The reflection snarled and every one of the mirrors cracked. Ignis fell to his knees sobbing as the most important person in his life judged him for the crimes that he’d committed. It wasn’t true, none of it was true. The only thing he’d ever wanted was to see Noctis take his rightful place on the throne, to be the great King he knew in his heart that Noctis was capable of becoming. He never thought it would end like this, that Noctis would end up marching to a place he couldn’t follow; that he wouldn’t ever even have the opportunity to keep him safe.

The reflection of himself re-materialized in the mirror with his mocking laughter and haughty expression, glaring down at him as he fell apart.

_What? Can’t handle the truth? Even if you didn’t know the exact details you **knew** something was happening the moment King Regis agreed to that damnable treaty. All that history, you can’t pretend you didn’t once draw any parallels from the prophecy that spoke of the King of Kings. It was right there the entire time. It’s fitting that you’ve lost your sight; a wonderful punishment for what you’ve always been: blind. Blind to events that were so obvious, so **preventable** if only you’d been able to read the signs right in front of your face. This is your fault; you failed him. _

_You failed him._

The words echoed around him, growing louder and louder as he shook his head and dug his fingers in his ears. The cracks in the mirrors became larger, spidering toward the edges until all at once they shattered with a deafening boom. Glass cascaded down around him, tearing into his clothes and flesh until he was cut to ribbons, bleeding out alone on the floor of the empty room.

He screamed.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his own bed, struggling against an oppressive weight keeping him bound in place. His skin was on fire and a sharp pain spiked behind his eyes. He was still screaming. Slowly, he came back to his senses enough to recognize Gladio on top of him, shouting and trying to pull him out of the horrible dream. Without thinking he shot up and launched himself into Gladio’s strong, protective, arms, shaking and sobbing like a frightened child. It was just a dream, but everything the reflections had said was true.

He had failed him. He had failed all of them.

He didn’t speak of the events of the dream, though Gladio begged him to tell him what was wrong. The next day he sat immobile in his chair, pouring over every scrap of evidence he’d come across in the past that pointed to the eventual outcome of their journey. His other self was right. It was all there, if only he’d been smart enough to put the pieces together. There might have been something they could have done to stop all this. At least if he had tried everything and failed then maybe he could’ve forgiven himself. Instead he’d sat back and done absolutely _nothing._

The next night, and every night after, he found himself alone in a dark expanse of desert completely void of any signs of life. A menacing shadow loomed toward him in the distance, and he took off running in a random direction to escape it. His chest was heaving and his legs were burning, but every time he turned around the shadow only seemed to be gaining on him. With nowhere to run to, and nowhere to hide, he’d eventually succumb to exhaustion and the shadow would swallow him up, leaving nothing but a cracked pair of spectacles in its wake.

He woke up screaming every time, with Gladio on top of him trying to sooth his terror. Didn’t he know that there was nothing he could do? This was no more than he deserved as punishment for his shortcomings, and he would bear the burden for as long as he lived. It wasn’t Gladio’s problem to deal with, but he woke with him every night and stayed with him until he drifted back to sleep. Ignis wished that he would stop, that he would just leave him alone with his failures and go off to live the life he’d earned.

Instead, Gladio called the doctor and tried to get him something that would help with the nightmares. Another little white pill was added to the one he was already taking, supposed to aid in helping him with dreamless sleep. The only thing it truly succeeded in doing was dragging the shadow out of his dreams so it could follow him in the waking hours, looming constantly over his shoulders as a reminder of his guilt and never letting him truly rest for even a moment.

The combination of lack of sleep and being constantly on edge caused the grey haze that had enveloped his vision to creep further into his mind and body, adding a weight to his limbs that made it hard to move and blurring his thoughts together until it started getting difficult to remember where he was and what he was doing at any given time.

There were several instances where Gladio would call to him and he would start awake to find himself curled inside the bathtub or hiding under the bed with no recollection of how he got there. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize the other right away and he always came back to himself filled with shame and horror at his own actions. He was starting to forget important details of his life, and Noctis’ life by proxy since they had been tied together for so long. The day he’d actually forgotten Noctis was dead was a day that the shadow had taken full form behind him and whispered terrible things into his ear until he felt his memories start to crack and reshape into terrible things he wanted nothing to do with.

Sometimes, the shadow would leave him alone just long enough to let him start feeling some semblance of normal again before it would come back in full-force, chasing him around the apartment and threatening to send him down to hell where he belonged, never to join his King in the afterlife. On days where he was just too tired to fight, he would give up and try to let the shadow consume him, but it only ever remained just out of reach, relentlessly mocking him for his weakness.

The only times it was truly gone were when Prompto would come by and use his natural light to banish it back into the corners of his mind for a few hours, finally giving him a bit of relief from its pursuit. There were even days he actually knew who Prompto was.

Not even the exuberant blonde could keep the shadow away for long, and it always returned ready to chase him back into the corners of his memory until everything became distorted and he couldn’t tell for sure what was actually real. Multiple times a day he’d find himself having conversations with people that weren’t actually there, trying to perform menial tasks in incorrect locations using incorrect materials, or resisting interference from the large man living with him. He’d retreated so far into himself that he was constantly forgetting the most basic things, including the fact that he had gone blind, and he would wake up lost and scared until his companion reminded him that he was safe.

He owed the world to that man, and he always meant to thank him if he ever remembered his name.  

The shadow chased him until he nowhere left to run, and then an amazing thing happened; a little boy came out of the darkness of his mind and expertly lured the shade into a cage he’d somehow manifested from the air. When it was trapped inside the boy took his hand and together they locked it inside, breathing heavily as it howled and thrashed against its prison.

The boy looked over at him and smiled, and Ignis knew instantly that it was his job to love him and protect him from anything that might do him harm. He never spoke, but he instinctively knew in his heart the boy was called Noct.

From then on he and Noct were inseparable. He never questioned why Noct’s form always seemed to change from young boy, to moody teenager, to sullen young adult and then back again, because he really didn’t care. What mattered was that he was here, safe, and alive; and his entire world centered in on him. It didn’t matter much to him that he always felt as if he were missing something, or that the sad face of a large but gentle man kept flashing across his vision. Noct was the only thing that mattered, and he cared for him with the singular determination not to fail him this time, though he could no longer recall ever failing him in the first place.

The details of his world started to fade away as he focused on Noct and Noct alone. He was vaguely aware of things happening around him, but he paid them little attention. He felt like something important had happened when a man with a normally upbeat demeanor came to him and sadly said goodbye. After he left, the monster in the cage grew even more violent and he was forced to take Noct and draw him even deeper into the murky void of his mind to keep them both from harm. He wasn’t sure why he was so agitated that the stranger was gone, but he quickly filed it away into the ever growing pile of information that didn’t matter and went back to doting on his charge.

Just when he thought they’d be able to be safe forever, the large man that was his caretaker suddenly turned on him. He wrenched Noct’s hand from his grasp and nearly pulled his little arm out of socket with all the force he used to drag him away. He broke out in tears in an instant, begging the man not to hurt him or take him away. The words seemed to get through to him, and he returned Noct to him with an angry scowl.

After that he could no longer trust the man, and he boxed him away in the far corner of his mind along with the monster. Noct seemed to fall ill after he was snatched, no longer quick to smile or go along with his instruction. The man had broken him, and he would never forgive him for it.

As he was ready to give up and call himself a failure once again, he was visited by a different version of Noct. This Noct was older and carried himself much more regally than he had ever seen from him before. The Noct before him was a King, one that he would follow to the ends of Eos if he called, and call to him he did.

The new Noct led him to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony outside the apartment and helped him get rid of the pesky lock preventing him from opening it. The King then led him outside and onto the balcony before drifting over the railing and vanishing into the rising sun.

For a moment he’s distraught and unsure of what to do, confused at why the King would bring him here only to disappear. Then a familiar voice calls to him, beckoning him forward. With some difficulty he climbs up onto the railing at the edge of balcony and tilts his head to the sky. Noct is above him, reaching down for him from his throne atop a cloud and asking him to come.

He can’t disobey an order from his King.

Just as he’s about to step forward to join him, the traitorous man grabs him around the middle and pulls him back onto the balcony. He kicks and screams, but the man refuses to release him. Eventually the other’s calming words get him to stop thrashing and he goes completely limp in grasp, defeated. For some strange reason the man turns him around in his arms and presses his mouth against his own. The contact is weird and alien, yet also vaguely familiar and warm. It feels nice.

His body moves without instruction from his mind and he finds himself moving his mouth in sync with the larger man’s. Their mouths mesh together for a few moments before his hands move on their own accord to drift at the edge of the man’s shirt. He isn’t sure what he’s hoping to accomplish, but the skin beneath his fingers is pliant and inviting. He decides he likes it, very much.

Before his hands can wander any further the man stops him as askes him to say who he is. It’s a strange request, one that he struggles to fill. He knows after what they just did that the man means something to him, perhaps more than just something, but for the life of him he _can’t remember his name_. Frustrated, he settles on telling him that he’s important. Maybe that will be enough to satisfy him so they can go back to doing what they were doing before.

Only it’s not enough. Instead of bringing his mouth back down the large man holds him close and cries into his hair. He wants to soothe him, to tell him that everything will be ok, but he struggles to get words out as the man practically crushes him to his chest, brokenly weeping and begging him to come back even though he couldn’t possibly go anywhere with how tightly he’s being held. He lets the man guide him back into the bedroom and lies down with him on command. For some reason the man is still crying and he can’t help but to feel like something isn’t right.

Deep in the recesses of his fractured psyche, the monster roars from inside its cage.  

 


End file.
